There are some words in the English language that convey profound meaning through their sheer ambiguity. Assclown is one of them.

Friday, January 13, 2006

The Hoo-Ha Sisterhood

Sometimes, I think that I don't appreciate the difficulties of being female. Recently, it has come to my attention that being the owner of a hoo-ha is a tricky proposition. For example, Karla gives us the following account of a typical baby shower:Anyone attempting to strike up a conversation that's not related to the pain of pushing a human head out of one's hoo-ha is swiftly punished, as the other ladies close in on her and pummel her about the head and neck with their handbags.

First of all, I have to say that I was surprised to learn that baby showers were permitted in women's prison. Secondly, and more importantly: Why in the name of God would you want to project human heads from your hoo-ha? It is bad enough that you have decapitated another human (hence the jail sentence), but show some respect for the dead. To be fair, I have witnessed the projection of objects like champagne and ping-pong balls from an asundry of hoo-has. But these were the hoo-has of skilled professionals, who were undoubtedly under the supervision of a veteran hoo-ha coach. I'm sure that years of practice and training were required to learn these skills. Ladies, while I do appreciate the versatility of your hoo-ha, it's utility as catapult is questionable, at best.At Living in the Big Time by Jen Gaffney, I found the following:

We also don't carry our instruments everywhere with us. Or stick flutes in our hoo-has.

Just the other day, I was listening to a professional violinist lament the decline of the symphony orchestra in American society. I believe that Ms. Gaffney has found the solution. I am certain that I would attend more classical concerts if the musicians played their instruments with their hoo-has. For certain, instruments like the cello and xylophone would present a challenge. As a Big Picture Guy, I haven't worked out the logistics of it, but these are precisely the types of problems that organizations like the Peabody Institute were designed to tackle. I look forward to hearing a stunning rendition of the Monistat Concerto #7 in the near future at my local metropolitan orchestra.

I also found a rather disturbing warning regarding hoo-ha maintenance at I'd rather be having a beer :I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"Since this is an Alaskan blog, I believe that who-ha is an alternate spelling that can be attributed to dialect. Regardless, Arctic Skipper has a lengthy essay that warns of the dangers inherent in waxing ones hoo-ha. Ladies, I'm going to let you in on a little secret here: The male attraction to your hoo-ha is based primarily on its functionality. Seriously, take a look at your hoo-ha. (If you are at work, your boss will understand, because after all, it's in the name of science.) Are you looking? Good. Now ask yourself this: If my hoo-ha was a flower vase or a Pez dispenser, would any guy want to look at it? I am afraid the answer is no. Consequently, you don't need to engage in behaviors that risk your hoo-ha's ability to perform its primary mission. In the throes of intimacy, I assure you that you will never hear the following: "You know, I just don't find your hoo-ha as aesthetically pleasing as I was hoping to. I'm going to go change my oil." Of course, there are exceptions. For example, it would be perfectly understandable to tattoo the following on your hoo-ha: "Mayor TFG Welcomes You To Hoo-Ha City." Other than that, I think that we can conclude that activities involving your hoo-ha and hot wax, sharp objects, or tattoo guns are simply not worth the risk. In closing, I'm going to have to say that hoo-ha ownership looks much tougher than its male counterpart. Thus, it is probably a good thing that men are hoo-haless. I know that if I had a hoo-ha, I would have broken it irreparably years ago. Probably while trying to use it as a bottle rocket launcher, paint mixing vessel, or some similar foolishness. While I certainly enjoy visiting hoo-ha land, I don't think I could live there. For now, I'll stick to borrowing when it comes to filling my hoo-hicular needs.

Regarding hoo-ha maintenance, I have developed four categories, based on golf: rough, fairway, green and sandtrap.

I have noticed a trend among today's female youth, gleaned only from archival photographs (since I'm too old and, oh yeah, married, for direct research) towards the sandtrap. I'm talking total, Agent Orange level deforestation and I don't like it one bit. I prefer to play the hole from a nice fairway or the green, but I require some foliage to set me up for a good stroke. I guess I'm old fashioned.I don't mind playing the hole from the rough either, provided the greenskeeper has swept out the cup since the last foursome played through.

I'm completely unsure how I'd cope with that sort of thing -- I mean, I'm always up for seeing a good hoo-ha shot, and I've been to Thailand, but I'm afraid "How Many Slim Jims Can You Get In Your Hoo-Ha" might just be too Dutch-porn for me.

I agree with Josh. Jen's closing quote of "Thanks, Assclown" made me forget the undoubtedly witty comment I was about to leave. Now I'm just thinking how cool it would be if they remade the old TV show The Waltons, but added a new character, and at the end of every show right after "Goodnight John Boy," they said "Goodnight Assclown!"